


Commando Crichton

by vinegardog



Category: Farscape
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10653699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinegardog/pseuds/vinegardog
Summary: John and Aeryn are being pursued.  John has an idea.





	Commando Crichton

Written for SC 98 – In Media Res hosted by M1812L

Set about 12 cycles after PKWs

Rating: PG

Word count: about 2160

The characters aren’t mine, not officially, although they are a little since I love them so much.

Thanks to A Damned Scientist for lending me and letting me use the name of one of the main characters of this story – it is a name I loved from the very first time I read it in one of his fics.

Thanks to A Damned Scientist for the beta read!

**Commando Crichton (PG)**

They are being hunted; their pursuers are on their heels and closing in.

Moya’s curved, golden bronze corridor seems to extend ahead of them for miles but they know that it’ll eventually lead them to the main hangar bay, where they plan to make a last desperate stand. They are running at full speed towards it, side by side, when John’s mind, working overtime, comes up with a different plan: Will it work? Or will it be his last? He never really knows how his plans are gonna turn out, not until the results are in and the pros and cons are tallied up. So far, he reckons, he is just about breaking even when it comes to positive and negative outcomes. Oh well. Screw it! In a matter of microts, his mind’s made up.

He puts on the brakes, grabs Aeryn by the elbow putting an end to her sprint and causing her to swivel around fast to face him, so fast she almost crashes into him. He communicates with her by staring into her questioning grey eyes and then darting his own blue ones sideways towards the curved hatchway into the storage bay on their right.

She shakes her head and points her chin back towards the hangar bay where they were originally heading but he frowns and squeezes his big hand around her arm hard enough for her to realize that only an argument – which is obviously out of the question since they are on the run and need to keep quiet – would sway her stubborn mate – or, even better, a pantak-jab. The second option is tempting, very tempting, but, alas, impractical under the circumstances.

She pulls her elbow out of his grasp with an annoyed jerk, gives him ‘the look’ – aggravated, impatient, withering - but capitulates and leads the way into the bay where a couple of dozen large, empty containers are stored.

She looks around, studies the room evaluating its advantages and disadvantages, then points to two containers side by side on the left-hand side of the large chamber and indicates with her hand that John should crouch behind one. Knowing that her tactical instincts are way better than his, John lets her make this particular decision, follows her order and dives behind the large metal crate she has pointed out to him. Aeryn hits the door command to close the round portal but stops its swing just before it snaps shut, just enough to leave a small gap, which she hopes will work in enticing their pursuers to walk into the room and right into their ambush and then she dives behind the container beside the one John is already hiding behind.

They know it won’t be long before a stand-off with the enemy takes place, but all they can do now is wait and hope that this place turns out to be a wise and favourable choice.

Aeryn calmly leans her back against the metal box and begins checking her rifle: she clicks the safety on and off again, she makes sure that a shot is loaded in the chamber and that the rifle sights are clean – it’s all very methodical, efficient and pretty impressive.

John observes her from across the narrow gap between containers and fidgets, nervous energy making him antsy. His mouth opens – inane chat about to come out – but even before his own brain registers what his mouth is about to do, Aeryn senses it, shoots him a warning look and raises her finger to her lips to silence him. ‘The enemy is on approach’ her face says with just a simple but more than eloquent frown, ‘shut up and settle down’.

Aye, aye message received. John grins and winks at her. She remains serious, concentrated. Damn! This woman is sexy when she is in super soldier mode like she is right now. He knows it’s daft but he almost wishes that they found themselves in more of these life and death situations, just so that he could watch her be this lethally hot!

He leans back, eyes still drinking her in even after all these years as if she was a cool, tall drink of water in the hot desert sun and he settles to wait for what it feels like an eternity until…

Steps. The sound of approaching steps is clearly heard in the corridor outside, accompanied by a sotto-voce, heated conversation between two individuals.

They can’t hear the words but it is obvious that their pursuers are in disagreement about something.

The male voice they hear first is noticeably annoyed and fires what sounds like clipped orders to his companion. The voice that counters the first one is female, moany and fed-up, and it is all too clear to the listeners that its owner is none too impressed with or cowed by the orders imparted by her comrade.

Good. Discord will play in their favour. John looks towards his wife to see her reaction: she looks pretty unimpressed with the goings-on outside the door. Her eyes are clouding over in annoyance and her visage is progressively darkening. Uh-ho!

John decides that it’s time for him to do something to distract her before she does something they’ll regret, so he comes up with another plan.

Given the position of her hiding place, Aeryn has a better line of sight to the door and he wants her to be the one to take a peek around the container and assess the enemy forces when they finally step into the room. He thinks back to all the war/action movies he grew up watching with his Dad on TV and decides to adopt the Delta Force tactical hand signals to communicate with his wife because – he optimistically thinks – 1. They are efficient 2. They are probably similar to the ones used by Peacekeepers 3. They are fun to make!

So he points his right hand at her; then points his index and middle finger to his eyes and then just his index finger towards the entrance to tell her that she is the one who should look when the intruders come into view.

All he gets is a stony look back.

Ok, maybe the PKs don’t use the exact same hand signals, but surely these are pretty self-explanatory?

He mimes a door by air-drawing one straight line up, one straight line across and one straight line down the other way and repeats the look-out for them signal.

Aeryn just stares at him long and hard, her expression statue-like and her posture just as still, giving him nothing, not even a hint, as to whether she understands any part of what he is trying to express.

His efforts at communication are however cut short when they hear the door into the cargo bay being pushed wide open from the outside by their pursuers and when steps become louder and louder as they advance closer and closer to their position. At this point John decides to take a peek himself since Aeryn hasn’t moved a muscle yet and doesn’t seem to be about to do so.

He leans quickly sideways, steals a look and draws back behind the safety of the container: as he thought from the overheard conversation, there are just two people advancing towards the centre of the cargo bay so he lifts two fingers to confirm the number to Aeryn and then circles his neck with thumb and index finger to indicate to her that he wants them taken hostage. She only ever so slightly raises her eyebrows in response to his mimicry.

The intruders are now deep inside the cargo bay but, instead of inspecting the place as sound war tactics would dictate, they are continuing their heated sotto-voce argument, obviously distracted and seemingly unaware of the two hideaways lying in wait. John lifts his thumb up and cups his ear to signal to Aeryn that this is going well and that they should listen in before taking action.

Aeryn rolls her eyes at him, stands, takes careful aim and shoots the two intruders in the chest – clinically and precisely. Pop, pop. Centre mass shots, lethal.

“Aaeeeryn!” John stands up too, now that it’s all over. “Jeez, woman! I signalled to you that we should listen first and then capture them but you had to go ahead and shoot them, didn’t you?” He protests loudly just as two other sets of protests, even louder ones, erupt to join his own.

“Mom! That’s not fair!” The male enemy soldier, their first born, D’Argo, exclaims, stomping a foot and throwing his paintball gun to the floor in a tantrumy fit.

“Ouch, that hurt, Mom!” the second enemy soldier, their 6 year old second born, Joolie, complains wiping the red paintball stain from her favourite pink leather vest and soothing with her little hand the spot on her chest where the paint pellet hit her hard.

D’Argo’s pride is hurt and he is far from finished whining: “It’s not fair, Mom!” He repeats. “Joolie was moaning about having to go to the refresher, she distracted me! How am I supposed to carry out your military exercises with her in tow?!” D’s voice is so whingey, he sounds more like an 8 year old than the serious and mature 12 year old he normally is.

“I like this paintball gun…” Aeryn murmurs to herself while she admires the weapon in her hand, pointedly ignoring the complaints of her husband and of both of her offspring; then she suddenly looks up and addresses her family:

“John, you looked ridiculous making all those senseless gestures.” She says to her pouting husband, barely suppressing an amused smile at the hurt expression that blooms on his face; then she directs her stern attention to the children: “Your training leaves a lot to be desired. You both failed your mission to find and dispose of us. You’d be dead in a real life situation. We will reconvene on Command in exactly 3 arns for further training and tactical exercises and this time I expect you to do better. Much better.” She raises her hand to forestall the inevitable choruses of objections from the two young ones and walks out with rod-straight spine and military gait.

D’Argo waits for her to be out of earshot – because he is annoyed but he is not stupid - and turns to his father:

“Well done, Dad. What a bright idea that was to build Mom a paintball gun!” Not happy with that, he then turns to his sister “And you are just useless, Jools, stay away from me from now on!” After which he walks out, back straight, head held high – the uncanny replica of his mother’s comportment - all haughty attitude and hurt feelings, his disdain towards the two remaining members of the family almost comical to behold.

John had briefly considered pointing out to Aeryn that the “senseless gestures” she had branded as ridiculous were how the toughest fighters on Earth did it but he knew from many a previous experience what a losing battle with his wife looked like, so he had kept his counsel instead and had waited for both wife and son to get their grievances off their chest and leave, before turning to his youngest with a grin and a comforting wink.

Joolie had been feeling pretty wretched after both her mom and her brother’s criticisms but when her sky blue eyes lift up and meet her dad’s smile and cheeky wink she suddenly feels better.

Her plump, wobbly lips stop trembling; her sad eyes, shiny with barely contained big fat tears, dry up and she finally manages to grin back at him – an authentic Crichton grin that’s the exact copy of the one lighting up his face – before she throws herself into his open, consoling arms.

After a couple of moments though, she tugs on his t-shirt and says: “Dad? I still have to go to the refresher!”

John looks down at his little girl; he sets his jaw in determination and springs into action: he drops to his knees to match her height, stares straight at her pretty face framed by unruly dark curls, cups his fist to his mouth and pretends to speak into a walkie-talkie to his commanding officers:

“Officer Crichton reporting for duty! Mission PeePee is a go!”

He lifts his right hand in the OK sign, bends his arm at the elbow and jerks it up and down in the faster/hurry signal and takes off out of the room, Joolie in tow, giggling helplessly at her dad’s only too familiar silliness. He looks back at her and repeats the faster/hurry sign but when she starts lagging behind, he stops, grabs her, swings her on to his shoulders and like a SEAL crossing enemy territory he slinks his way to the refresher room, fast like a hare and stealthy like a cat.

To everybody’s relief, Mission PeePee is a complete success.

 

The End


End file.
